


carry all your thoughts across an open field

by tobeconvincedoflove



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish Loves Ronan Lynch, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, also there's a severe lack of MIT!Adam in this fandom, and as an MIT student i had to change this, because i finished finals last week and wanted to do this, honestly this super self-indulgent post-finals exhaustion, this is just honestly pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 17:43:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14836244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconvincedoflove/pseuds/tobeconvincedoflove
Summary: Adam finishes finals. Ronan is there.(title from Boston by Augustana)





	carry all your thoughts across an open field

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, friends! There's some MIT-lingo in here, so here's what I think you need to know:  
> -course 8 = physics major  
> -course 18 = math major (as I am)  
> -8.044 = quantum class (in physics department)  
> -18.152 = intro to partial differential equations (in math department, and a great class 10/10 would recommend)  
> -brass rat = the famous MIT class ring  
> -flour is a real bakery and their sticky buns/salads/coffee is to die for
> 
> Also this is 100% based on my finals experience last semester (lol 4 finals in 4 days was rough don't double major kids!!!). I deadass made it to my flight home (after subsisting on cuties and coffee for a week) and then passed out for 17 hours as soon as I got to my bed.

By the time Adam walks to his last final exam, he can feel his teeth buzzing in his mouth. MIT Finals weeks are always exercises in sleep deprivation, dissociation, and mind-numbing exhaustion held at bay by adrenaline and caffeine. He still can’t tell you what the fuck happened during his 8.033 final last semester. 

The point is, he just needs to get through 18.152 and then he’s home free for the summer. He’s studied his eyes out, the knowledge that the final is 40% of his final grade and there’s only seven problems sitting poorly in his head. It’s not like he has to move out, because he’s got an apartment, and he’s interning in Boston over the summer, but he just wants to be _done_. 

They say sophomore year of college is the hardest, and Adam can’t help but agree. 

He plays with the Brass Rat on his finger all through the exam, the cheapest one he could get. Ronan had made fun of him, asking why he wanted one so badly, and Adam still can’t really explain. They say MIT is like drinking from a firehose, and his entire class has been clinging to the symbol that they made it halfway through, collecting stories of job offers off of the ring alone and praying something works out for them. 

Then Adam forces himself to go into exam-mode. 

Adam’s brain hyper-focuses on proving uniqueness via the energy method, of deriving formulas from intuition alone and writing out his logic clearly and succinctly on the page in front of him. He’s spent all of last night studying, and after three days of the test, study, test, repeat cycle, he’s about ready to drop. By the time Adam finally is satisfied with his work, there’s still technically fifteen minutes left of the exam. 

Adam hands it in, hands shaking. 

His professor gives him a concerned look, but Adam just smiles, grabs his backpack, and leaves. He makes it out into the hallway, where he allows himself a breath. Bea, his friend from the class, is waiting. She’s sitting against the wall, looking half-asleep already. 

“That wasn’t that bad, actually,” she says when he sits down next to her. “I think I got what I needed to keep an A.” Adam is confident Bea did; there’s a lot they don’t talk about in that class, but he recognizes the way her eyes will look past all of the boys and hope for another girl. Maddie, one of their other pset buddies, is in the class, but she doesn’t show up to lecture often. But she still looks, the same way Adam would look for a hint of wear on Aglionby sweaters no matter how many times there never were.

“I should get going. Ronan is probably here,” Adam mumbles. “Have a good summer, Bea. Don’t check WebSIS for at least a week.” 

“You need to sleep is what you need. I’m heading up to Central; I’ll walk with you,” Bea offers, groaning a little as she pulls herself to her feet. “That way I can see my favorite aesthetic in person again.” 

“I don’t know why you think Ronan is so amusing,” Adam mumbles, and Bea just cackles. “Don’t you have to pack your stuff?” 

“You goddamn know I’m never leaving,” Bea says. Adam likes Bea, because she _gets_ living on a tight budget. She’s working a dumb job in the dorm for the free housing so she can do cancer research at the same time. He respects that, more than he thinks she knows. “And what the hell isn’t amusing? You described him as a punk farmer the first time we met.” 

“You’re from like Kansas or some shit. You know what farmers look like,” Adam quips. “And it wasn’t the first time we met.” 

“You’re right. It was day two of orientation hell,” Bea corrects herself, rolling her eyes. She stumbles on the sidewalk, and rights herself via Adam’s arm. “Holy shit you’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” Adam argues. “It’s normal. I just need water without caffeine in it.” 

“Jesus, man,” Bea says, and whips out her phone. 

“Do not text Ronan,” Adam warns. 

“Why not? He’s always responded. I was texting him that time you got super drunk at Phi Sig.” Bea doesn’t sound bothered. “It was cute. He was worried. He also loved that video of you dancing.” She laughs at the memory. “You were so gone. We need a repeat of that night.”

“What the fuck? He barely responds to Gansey,” Adam all but gasps. 

“Yeah, well, that’s Gansey. He isn’t the one who can tell Ronan if you’re dead in an alley or just studying for an exam.” Bea flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s not often at all. Like only if he explicitly needs something or wants to ask a question.” 

“Still…” Adam isn’t sure why he can’t wrap his head around this, but then again he thinks he’s one second away from passing out right here on Mass Ave. 

“Don’t freak out about it. It’s finally summer. We can turn our brains off,” Bea nudges Adam, slips her phone back into her pocket. “Do you want to stop at Flour?” 

“You literally told me you don’t ‘have any more money for bougie-ass Cambridge cafes’ yesterday,” Adam reminds her. “And I’m not hungry.”

“When’s the last time you ate, though?” Bea keeps her voice light, but she knows. Freshman year, when they both lived in the dorms, she would constantly drag Adam’s ass to the dining hall when he would come back late from studying or work, sit him down with a plate of food and sip at coffee until he finished. 

“Hmm… before 8.044,” Adam answers. Bea just lets out a deep sigh. 

“Thank god you’re not my problem for the next two weeks,” she says. “Did Jared give you an odd look when you turned in the final? He said good luck to me. Like damn son I’m already done, I don’t need the luck anymore. I need mercy.” 

“Stop being dramatic,” Adam says. “What are you even doing in Central?” 

“Avoiding my roommate and her family while she moves out. I’ll just chill in Starbucks,” Bea shrugs. “Her mom fucking hates me and I’m not dealing with that.” 

“Yeah, that’s fair.” 

They make a little bit of small talk, but they’re both tired and Beatrice is rarely willing to talk nonstop as they walk down Mass Ave. She doesn’t like the idea of people listening. 

But when they make it to Adam’s apartment building, just a few side streets away from the garage he works at, Ronan is waiting outside. He’s dressed like a sin in all black, but his face eyes show a hint of worry even as Adam stumbles into his arms for a kiss.

“Mmmkay, well this has been fun, but I’m gonna leave you alone now. He’s like super caffeinated and dehydrated, so good luck!” And then Bea walks away, slipping headphones over ears and ignoring Adam’s noise of protest. 

“You’re burning up, shithead,” Ronan breathes out, his nose brushing against Adam’s. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

“Lynch, I’m fine,” Adam argues, but Ronan just pulls Adam by the hand. 

“You’re gonna eat, and then drink a bunch of water, and then you’re going to go to sleep.” Ronan’s voice is soft but stern. “You need to start being a human again.” 

“I have a shift tonight,” Adam murmurs, once he’s sitting on his own countertop. “At the garage.” 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to work more than twenty hours a week during the semester?” Ronan says. “MIT rules or some shit.”

“MIT won’t pay you more than twenty hours. The garage is separate,” Adam explains. “It’s just… it’s good to have some money. In case… in case things go wrong.”

“You’re on a full scholarship,” Ronan says, then laughs a little. “I get it, but, fuck. You’re calling out tonight. You almost fell asleep on the walk up.” Adam just shrugs, and when he slips his phone out of his pocket, Ronan starts going through the movements of scrambling eggs, giving Adam the privacy to make the call. 

“I didn’t know you you and Bea texted,” Adam says, once he’s done. He’s behind Ronan, chin hooked over his shoulder. His arms snake around Ronan’s waist, and Adam revels in the way Ronan still smells like the Barns and his stupid Irish Spring body wash. 

“That’s a loose interpretation. It’s rare at best,” Ronan says. “She’s nice, though. Not as Gansey-like as I feared.” 

“She’d punch you if she heard you compare her to Gansey,” Adam responds. Ronan just flicks him in the nose. 

“I’d like to see her try. Now sit somewhere. They’re almost done.” Ronan doesn’t want to hake Adam off of him, and Adam lets out a deep sigh as he forces himself to let go of Ronan. He goes back to the countertop, pushes himself onto it. His legs are spread wide, and Ronan has to wait for his brain to catch up with the sight. Ronan had put Adam’s eggs in a bowl, because for unknown reasons Adam prefers them to plates. He thinks there might be an element of protection to it, that it’s less likely to be taken or slapped from his hands, but if Ronan thinks about that too much he wants to drive back to Henrietta to punch Robert Parrish in the face all over again. 

But Adam takes a bite, and then puts the bowl on the counter. Ronan isn’t even halfway through a sigh before Adam has pulled Ronan so that he’s between Adam’s face. Adam’s hands grasp at the buzzed hair, pulls Ronan in for a kiss. After a few seconds when Ronan’s brain goes white with the sensation, Ronan remembers his mission.

“Stop it. Eat the goddamn eggs before they go cold,” he says, reaching up to tug at Adam’s hair. Only when he’s on the counter is he taller than Ronan, and Adam makes a face at the pull. 

“Don’t want them. Want you,” Adam all but mumbles. He starts to fall forward off of the counter into Ronan, but Ronan pushes him back up. 

“Listen, we have two weeks. You’re like 80% out of it, Parrish, so just get some calories and water into you, and then you can octopus your goddamn heart out,” Ronan bargains. 

Adam picks up the bowl. That’s a victory. 

“It’s fine, you know?” Adam says through a mouthful of food. “It’s not as bad as it was. Unless it’s finals, it’s not like this.” Adam is thinking back to St. Agnes, remembering nights where he made a slice of white bread last hours, filled his stomach with water instead. His ribs aren’t as pronounced now, his hip bones jutting out just a little less. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry, dipshit,” Ronan says, voice low and gruff. “And it’s not hard to upgrade from ketchup sandwiches.” 

He lets Adam eat, leans back against knobby knees and breathes in the calmness Adam radiates until he hears the bowl touch the counter again. The glass of water is empty now, too, when Ronan turns around. 

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.” Ronan says, his arms snaking around Adam’s waist. He waits for Adam’s knees to tighten around his own waist and then Ronan’s hands are on Adam’s ass and he’s carrying Adam to his bedroom. 

Adam knows he should protest, but it feels good, being close to Ronan after it’s felt he’s been miles away form his own body this week. He rests his chin on Ronan’s shoulder, his arms draping over Ronan’s back and holding on tight. 

“You’re not falling asleep until you get your jeans off, asshat,” Ronan murmurs, but Adam just lets out a noise of protest when Ronan sets Adam down on his bed. “Work with me here.” 

Adam grumbles, but he manages to push his shoes and jeans off with minimal struggling, but his hands get caught in his shirt and Ronan takes a few seconds to laugh before he helps Adam detangle himself. Adam returns the favor when Ronan almost falls over trying to get his own pants off, but he easily loses the jacket and tank. 

“We gonna fuck?” Adam asks, but it’s already slurred with sleep. Ronan chuckles.

“You’d fall asleep,” Ronan says, climbs into Adam’s bed. It had taken a month of convincing to get Adam to abandon his air mattress at St. Agnes, and another month after Adam’s freshman year to convince him to get a queen-sized mattress instead of an extra-long twin. But it’s times like these Adam is truly glad he shelled out the extra cash. 

Adam moves slowly, crawling up enough on the bed that he can wrap his arms around Ronan and rest his head against Ronan’s chest. 

“Fuck, Parrish, you’re bony,” is Ronan’s response, but his hand goes to play with Adam’s curls. “I thought we were working on that.” 

“Hmmm, it’s getting there,” Adam responds. “M’ eating breakfast, now.” 

It strikes Ronan how much of progress that actually is. He remembers back to senior, junior, sophomore year at Aglionby, when Adam thought filling his water bottle was a breakfast, when a sandwich would be split into lunch and snack, and on bad days, dinner. Adam eats lunch now, and he _cooks_ dinner. He’ll send Ronan pictures sometimes. 

“That’s good. How’s piyo or whatever bougie ass gym class you’re taking?” Ronan asks. He feels Adam’s chuckle rumble through his chest. 

“It’s fun. Helps with my back, and I gotta take gym to graduate,” Adam reminds him. “I just let Bea choose what we’re gonna do at this point.”

“Helps with that ass, too.” Ronan’s grin is savage, and Adam picks his head up off of Ronan’s chest to reach up for a kiss. Ronan lets Adam poke his tongue through Ronan’s open lips, enjoying the sensation, until he remembers the objective. “Fuck off, Parrish. Fucking sleep, already.” 

“It can wait. Didn’t seem you protesting either, Lynch,” Adam says, pushing himself up to get better leverage. Ronan plays along, but then when Adam’s lost in his lips’ exploration of Ronan’s earlobe, jawline, sternum, mouth, Ronan grabs Adam’s ass and effectively flips them over. And then Ronan pulls away, his lips pressing a kiss to Adam’s knuckles. 

“Good try, Parrish.” Ronan’s voice is rough, and Adam lets out a frustrated groan/moan hybrid. But he goes limp, and Ronan deems it safe to climb off of his boyfriend. 

After a few seconds of Adam all but pouting, Ronan’s arms shoot out and pull Adam close. Adam hums his approval, and he smiles, just a little. It’s that smile, so warm and gentle, that would make Ronan burn down cities to see again. 

“Go to sleep, shithead.” Ronan’s voice is affectionate, and Adam leans more into the other boy, his muscles relaxing as Ronan rubs circles along Adam’s knuckles, impossibly gentle.

“I missed this. I missed you,” Adam admits, his voice soft and already weighed down by the tendrils of sleep. 

Adam’s breathing evens out, and Ronan just smiles. He hears the sounds of Adam’s roommates coming back from exams, but he stays right where he is, plays with Adam’s hair and think about how young he looks when he’s asleep. 

He picks up his phone. There’s a text from Bea, asking if Adam is okay. It’s accompanied with a picture of her laptop and a coffee, and he’s well-versed enough in the language of Beatrice Rosefsky to know it’s an invitation. 

Ronan send a video, of Adam sleeping and a hand being run through curls. Bea sends a thumbs up, and a dinner invitation. 

Ronan accepts. 

He looks down at Adam, at the sharp lines of his jaw and the softness of his freckles, and Ronan thinks his chest feels warm; not with the sticky Cambridge almost-summer, but the way he remembers when Aurora Lynch would take sugar cookies out of the oven. It’s the way it feels to be in Cabeswater, to sit in the springs and watch Adam clamber over rocks, full-teeth smiles in the dusk at the Barns. It’s the way it felt to sit in the pews of St. Agnes, staring at the stained glass on a Sunday morning. 

Ronan smiles. His hands are still in Adam’s curls, his eyes starting to slip shut themselves. Adam nestles closer to Ronan. 

Ronan presses a kiss to Adam’s forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this dumb thing. lmk what you think here or @ thoseunheard.tumblr.com !


End file.
